The Robins of Iverhill: Chapter 30 – Packing

NOTE: To read Chuck Miller’s book “The Robins of Iverhill: A Minor League Fairy Tale,” as well as the short stories in the “Christmas in Iverhill” series, visit this link.

My name is Genvieve McCarling. I’m the manager of the Iverhill Robins, and right now it’s the last game of the season. We were tied with Dellsburg for second place, and we needed to win our final home game and hope Dellsburg lost their final road game. The winner would join New Providence in the playoffs. Luckily for us, Dellsburg had to face Bark Creek on the road. I asked someone to call the Robins front office the minute the game ended and give me the report.

Meanwhile, we were hosting Cherry Mills. The Cherries were dead last in the IBA, but they didn’t want to end the season on a losing streak. To their effort, they played us tough in the final series. But we needed to beat them in the last game of the year for even a chance. If Dellsburg won, we would have to face them in a one-game playoff, and play the game in their park because they would hold the first tiebreaker against us, having beaten us seven games to five in the regular season.

It’s now the 8th inning of our game, and Cherry Mills has a 3-2 lead. The heart of our lineup is at the plate – Mauntmaurency’s up first, then Raveler, then Trunks.

That’s right… Monty Mauntmaurency’s up to bat.

You probably thought I traded Monty to another team.

Well, actually I did. For about 15 minutes.

See, Gene Raveler called me and told me what had happened – he told me about the business card with the initials circled on it. He told me what his girlfriend said to him. And he also confided in me some terrible things that happened to him as a kid. Terrible, horrible things. After we finished talking and I hung up the phone, I started to cry. What he told me gave me insight into what had happened to his adult life as a result of his childhood trauma.

And I spoke with Clete Olson – and Clete told me that Norton represented himself to Clete with a different job description than he did with Gene or with me or with Mr. Wilson. He wanted Monty – and I don’t think it was to be with the Angels. I almost think it had to do with a team in a much more fiery climate.

I called Mr. Norton at the Iverhill Motor Lodge and told him he should come to our office. When he arrived, I showed him Form O-15 – a trade that I had arranged with the manager of Corbett Falls. I would get their third baseman Alex McNamara, a player who had a penchant for misplacing everything from his car keys to his cleats. In return, Corbett Falls would get Monty Mauntmaurency.

I told Norton that I was sick of Monty’s antics, his 1880′s baseball gimmicks, and told him that Monty was a detriment to the team. I didn’t even want Monty for the playoffs. He could finish the final series four hours away in Corbett Falls.

Norton didn’t believe me. He looked at the trade form – with Monty’s name on it and with my signature – and then asked for directions to Corbett Falls. I gave him the directions to Corbett Falls as the crow flies. Unfortunately for Mr. Norton, the road to Corbett Falls does not follow the path of a crow.

I figured by the time Norton got to Corbett Falls – and found out that the trade was invalid, as it was made about six days after the official IBA trade deadline – that would give me at least eight hours to finish the game and do our best to make the playoffs – without Norton hanging around as a distraction or detriment to Monty or the rest of my team.

But back to the game. Monty hit a pop fly to right field for the first out. Raveler struck out, swinging like he wanted to put the ball in the next county. The Cherry Mills pitcher walked Trunks, then struck out Hunter to end the inning.

At that point, one of new batboys we hired motioned to me. “Coach, there’s a call from Ms. McDaniel, she wants to speak with you.”

“What does she want, Terry?” Yes, after Terry Wallis was released from the hospital, we worked with Otswego County Family and Child Services, and gave Terry a job as one of our batboys. He doesn’t have to get the bats, we gave him a uniform and he gets to watch the game from the dugout. And we get to make sure that the only thing he has to avoid is a stray foul ball.

“I’ll find out,” Terry said, running back to the phone in the clubhouse.

One minute later, he came back. “Coach, Dellsburg lost to Bark Creek 6-2.”

Olson did as was told. In the 8th inning, he faced Cherry Mills’ toughest hitters, including Clinch Couper, who feasted on anything that drifted out of the strike zone. Olson fanned him on three straight pitches. The next player, singles-hitter J.R. Herdman, got the count up to 2-2, but Clete floated a changeup that slid in for a called third strike. The next batter fouled off four straight pitches – then Olson zinged a fastball high and inside that Trunks pulled into his mitt for strike three.

We were down to our final three outs. Tierney got on base with a line-drive single. He would later steal second, then advanced to third base on a sacrifice. Olson, our pitcher, was up to bat. I couldn’t pull him for a pinch-hitter, because if the game went into extra innings, we’d have our best relief pitcher stuck on the bench.

Olson stepped into the batter’s box. I should have pulled him. He had an anemic .210 batting average this season. Pitchers don’t hit. At the time, I wondered why they just didn’t assign someone on the bench – someone with no defensive skills but a heavy bat – to bat for the pitcher. They did it in in the major leagues this year, calling it the “Designated Hitter.” But that rule hadn’t been adopted in the IBA, so I was stuck with Olson’s measly batting average and the game on the line.

I figured the Cherry Mills pitcher would simply give Olson an intentional walk, taking his chance with a double play.

Then I heard Olson shouting at the pitcher.

“Hey, Goodman!”

The righthanded pitcher, Glenn Goodman, stared at Olson.

“What would you say if I hit your next pitch over the fence?” Olson shouted.

Goodman went into his windup. The pitch. Olson fouled it toward the right-field line.

“You call that a pitch, Goodman? My grandpa could throw harder than you, and he’s been dead for 10 years!”

The Cherry Mills catcher threw the ball back to Goodman.

Then I heard Monty, sitting on the bench behind me, saying, “Come on Clete. Come on. You can do it.”

I turned. “What did you tell him to do?” I asked.

“I told him nothing,” said Monty. “He’s doing this all by himself.”

Olson took the bat and pounded it on the plate. “You got nothing up there, Goodman. I ain’t afraid of you. I ain’t afraid of nobody. You’re nothing. You can’t throw. All you got is fastballs and that’s it.”

Any chance that Goodman would intentionally walk Olson was out of the question now. Goodman rifled another fastball right into the heart of his catcher’s mitt, leaving Olson swinging at air. 0-and-2 the count.

I slammed my cap on the dugout railing. “Damn it, Clete, don’t do this!” I shouted. The Cherry Mills outfield shaded closer for the easy out, it looked like there were seven infielders on the diamond.

Then I looked at Monty again. He was focused directly on Clete Olson. “No fear,” Monty whispered. “Don’t fear anybody. Never again. Clean ‘em up Clete. You can do it. Clean ‘em up Clete.”

“Hey Goodman!” Olson shouted one more time.

“Whataya want, runt?” Goodman shouted.

“This game’s over, your season is over. Win or lose. But the next pitch you throw, I’m going to hit it out of the park! You can count on it!!”

“Oh yeah? Ten bucks says I hit your next pitch over the fence. Ten bucks. And the reason I’m going to do it is because you’re the worst pitcher on the worst team in the IBA, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“What?” Goodman shouted. “I won fifteen games this year, you’re just a mop-up relief pitching runt!”

With that, Goodman threw a changeup straight at the plate.

[Clete Olson has been jawing with pitcher Glenn Goodman all inning, we can't hear what he's saying, but it sounds like Goodman is ready to take this out. One out, Tierney on third, Robins down 3-2, bottom of the ninth inning. Duke, we just got the report, a final from Bark Creek, the Bark Creek Stars 6, the Dellsburg Skippers 2. So if Iverhill can win this game, and the tying run is at third, they would face New Providence next week for the IBA finals, the first time Iverhill's made the playoffs in years. ]

[Floyd, it looks like Goodman's first pitch - Olson fouled it into the right field foul section. Why they're not pitching around Olson and setting up the double play option is a complete mystery to me, Floyd.]

[Well, Duke, at this point if you don't get Olson out now, then you're looking at the top of the lineup for Iverhill. You don't want the game to get to the Robins' heavy hitters. ]

[Another fastball, strike two, Olson looked like he was swinging at air. Count now 0 and 2 on Olson.]

[From our position in the press box, it's hard to hear what's going on down on the field, but it looks like Clete Olson and Glenn Goodman are exchanging words. The outfield is coming in, they know Olson's not the strongest hitter on the Robins lineup.]

[Duke, it looks like Goodman's setting Olson up for a changeup. Here's the pitch.]

[Swing and it's a high pop fly into deep right field, this ball is going to be - Out of here, a home run - no wait, wait, it didn't clear the fence! It landed in right field, but Cherry Mills drew in their outfielders! Here comes Tierney to the plate, he will SCORE! Olson's rounding first and headed toward second. Clinch Couper, the right fielder, is running back to get the ball. Olson's hit second and is running toward third with a stand-up triple - wait, wait, he's not stopping! The assistant coach is telling him to stop, stop, but Olson's running through the signal and headed to the plate! Couper got the ball and is throwing to the cutoff man, Herdman - turns around - it's a play at the plate - Olson is - waiting for the umpire's signal - he's SAFE! OLSON'S SAFE! An inside-the-park home run for Clete Olson! And the Iverhill Robins win the game, 4-3, on a gutsy, fearless run by Clete Olson, unbelievable, it's like the kid stared the Devil in the eyes and the Devil backed off! Iverhill wins, Robins win and they face New Providence this Wednesday in the Intrastate Baseball Association Championship Series!]

[Duke, if I didn't see that play with my own eyes, I would never have believed it happened. Cherry Mills tried to intimidate Clete Olson, they brought in the outfield, they threw strikes at him when they should have just walked him and set up for another hitter. But they just went at him, trying to make him cower and give up. I've never seen that kind of fire in Clete Olson, and I like what I see, Duke.]

[Floyd, this is amazing. This season started, Clete Olson was afraid of his own shadow, now he just won the game for the Robins and put them in the championship series. And he's also the winning pitcher, increasing his record to 5 and 4, and 20 saves on the year. We'll be back after a few words from our sponsors, and from Wilson Field in Iverhill, New York, it's gone final, the Iverhill Robins 4, and the Cherry Mills Cherries 3. Today's game was brought to you by the Route 9N Tavern and Grille, where you can get a good meal for less than three dollars. Steak and fries, only at Route 9N Tavern. And by Cicchetti’s AMC dealership, located on Locust Grove Road in Corinth. Don't pass up your chance to buy a new Gremlin at Cicchetti's - the place where you get a square, fair deal.]

My name is Genvieve McCarling, and I just watched Clete Olson hit the game-winning inside-the-park home run to win the game and put us in the championship finals.

Olson ran that basepath like he was avoiding bullets. Big Richard Mahady, the catcher for Cherry Mills, got the ball and turned to block the plate. But Olson saw an opening and slid head-first into the plate. Mahady hesitated for a second. But that was all it took. Olson hit the plate with his outstretched hand, and that fat tub of blubber Godfrey actually called Olson safe. It was a miracle, the Lord Himself restored Godfrey’s vision at just the right time.

Olson got up, and started screaming “EEEEE-YAAAAAHHHH!!!” at the top of his lungs. Then he screamed, “HEY GOODMAN!! I OWE YOU TEN BUCKS!!”

And every Robin ran out out of the dugout, grabbing Olson and hugging and cheering and celebrating.

All, that is – except Monty. He didn’t take the field. While everybody else was celebrating, Monty went into the tunnel that connects the dugout to the clubhouse. I noticed it for a second – then I followed Monty.

By the time I got to the clubhouse locker room, Monty was in front of his locker. His duffel bag – the same one he brought with him to training camp – was open and sitting on a bench adjacent to the locker.

“Monty, we won! What are you doing in here? Go out and celebrate with your teammates!” I cheered.

Monty said nothing. He did, however, take things out of his locker and put them in the duffel bag

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Just then, Olson and Raveler came into the locker room. Olson was covered with dirt and grass and a dozen hugs. “We did it, Monty! We did it, we did it, we did it!”

“Yes you did, Clete,” Monty replied, continuing to pack.

“Hey Monty, you don’t have to pack now,” Raveler said, noticing Monty’s duffel bag was open and loaded with clothes and other items. “We get Game 1 of the playoffs here at Wilson Field.”

“I know, Gene,” Monty said. “But I can’t be here. Samuel Taylor Norton is coming back to get me. I know he’s on his way, and I know what you did to throw him off track. But he’s smarter than that. He’ll be back before you know it. I have to leave before he gets here. But I couldn’t leave until I completed my contract.”

“You’re still not making sense,” Clete replied.

“He hasn’t made sense all season,” said Raveler. “What’s to start now?”

“Hold up,” I said. “Let him speak.”

Monty continued putting clothes in his duffel bag. “Clete. Hand me that curveball inducer I gave you when the season started.”

Olson patted his pockets, finding the pocket with the leather ring. He handed it to Monty.

“You never used this in a game,” he said. “You never needed to. You had all the confidence in the world, but it was aimed in the wrong direction.” He put the leather ring in the duffel bag. “You’re one of the best pitchers I’ve ever seen, and you don’t even know it. You’re so worried about every throw that your confidence at the beginning of the season wasn’t even there. The curveball inducer was a crutch, to make you focus on something else. You’re not going to win every game, Clete. But you’re not going to lose every one, either. You have a great future in store for you. And it doesn’t even have to involve baseball. Your confidence starts with a single step forward. And then follow your path.”

Olson looked up at Monty. “But then why did you – “

“Why did I do what, Clete? Why did I try to drive your car and scare you? You needed to stop thinking about what fear can do to you. Don’t let anyone – or anything – keep you from your goals.”

Monty continued loading his duffel bag up. I saw him take an Iverhill Robins home jersey, one that was hanging in his locker. He put that in the duffel bag. I resisted telling him that the uniforms were Robins property, and that Mr. Wilson accounts for every jersey and any missing ones are taken out of salaries.

“Gene, I need to say a few things to you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I know that you’ve thought, for this entire season, that I was trying to infringe on things you held dear – mostly, your valued home run record or your girlfriends. Don’t worry. Your record is safe, no one will ever break it in the IBA. That should make you happy.”

Raveler nodded half-heartedly.

“But you know that’s just a statistic. And the purpose of statistics is that someone has a chance to exceed that statistic. To compare themselves to the greats of the sport. To say, ‘I am playing as well as Gene Raveler did in his prime.’ But what’s more important than records and statistics, Gene – and you know this now – is your relationship with people. What you did earlier this year, by taking a stand against what happened to that little boy – and taking issue with what has happened in your life – you’re doing more good than any home run record ever could.”

I looked over at Gene. And I saw something that in all my years, I had never seen with Eugene Raveler. He looked upset and shaken.

“Gene, you took a stand. You did something. You stopped the cycle from repeating itself. Gene Raveler, you don’t have to hate yourself any more. You are a good man. Take that next step.”

Monty snapped the bag shut. He looked at me. “Miss McCarling… You’re one of the sharpest baseball minds I’ve ever seen. You’ve got the ability to not only coach a baseball team – but you can also coach anything. An organization. A charity. A corporation. Despite what you think about the team, there are two dozen men in this locker room that respect you as a coach first and foremost. You’ve earned that. And make it twenty-five men… Coach McCarling.”

I never heard Monty refer to me by anything other than calling me “Miss,” or “the manager’s wife.” At this point, I was getting used to it – albeit begrudgingly. Hearing him call me “Coach McCarling,” it just sounded so out-of-place.

“But now I have to leave. I can’t be here when Samuel Taylor Norton comes back. He may be on his way to Wilson Field now. But he won’t catch me. I finished my contract. I came to help all of you. And I did. And now I have to go… until I’m needed again.”

He walked over to Olson and shook his hand. Olson hugged him. In the embrace, Monty whispered something to Olson. Monty then walked over to Gene Raveler and held out a hand in friendship. Gene looked down at the outstretched gesture. One second later, he returned the handshake. Monty leaned forward and whispered something in Gene’s ear as well.

Then he walked over to me. “This is goodbye, Coach. Good luck this week against New Providence.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t leave.”

“You know I have to. As far as you know, you never saw me here. I didn’t show up to the game today, and if anyone asks, I got on a train and headed north. I won’t be back. But I do have to tell you something.”

He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. What he said made me start to cry. I sat down on the locker room bench and sobbed. I looked up – he was gone, the door to the clubhouse slowly swinging shut.